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Dumbledore stopped pacing and looked at Harry.

“My apologies,” he said quietly. He sat back down at his desk.

“D’you—d’you know why my scar’s hurting me?”

Dumbledore looked very intently at Harry for a moment, and then said, “I have a theory, no more than that… It is my belief that your scar hurts both when Lord Voldemort is near you, and when he is feeling a particularly strong surge of hatred.”

“But… why?”

“Because you and he are connected by the curse that failed,” said Dumbledore. “That is no ordinary scar.”

“So you think… that dream… did it really happen?”

“It is possible,” said Dumbledore. “I would say—probable. Harry—did you see Voldemort?”

“No,” said Harry. “Just the back of his chair. But—there wouldn’t have been anything to see, would there? I mean, he hasn’t got a body, has he? But… but then how could he have held the wand?” Harry said slowly.

“How indeed?” muttered Dumbledore. “How indeed…”

Neither Dumbledore nor Harry spoke for a while. Dumbledore was gazing across the room, and, every now and then, placing his wand tip to his temple and adding another shining silver thought to the seething mass within the Pensieve.

“Professor,” Harry said at last, “do you think he’s getting stronger?”

“Voldemort?” said Dumbledore, looking at Harry over the Pensieve. It was the characteristic, piercing look Dumbledore had given him on other occasions, and always made Harry feel as though Dumbledore were seeing right through him in a way that even Moody’s magical eye could not. “Once again, Harry, I can only give you my suspicions.” Dumbledore sighed again, and he looked older, and wearier, than ever.

“The years of Voldemort’s ascent to power,” he said, “were marked with disappearances. Bertha Jorkins has vanished without a trace in the place where Voldemort was certainly known to be last. Mr. Crouch too has disappeared… within these very grounds. And there was a third disappearance, one which the Ministry, I regret to say, do not consider of any importance, for it concerns a Muggle. His name was Frank Bryce, he lived in the village where Voldemort’s father grew up, and he has not been seen since last August. You see, I read the Muggle newspapers, unlike most of my Ministry friends.” Dumbledore looked very seriously at Harry.

“These disappearances seem to me to be linked. The Ministry disagrees—as you may have heard, while waiting outside my office.”

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1. A blank silence greeted Hermione’s words. She looked around at all the faces upturned to her, rather disconcerted.
2. A few moments later, Mr. Weasley came into the warm living room carrying his dinner on a tray. He looked completely exhausted.
3. A few of the centaurs looked worried now. Hermione, however, gave a gasp.
4. A few people looked around. Rita Skeeter’s eyes widened behind her jeweled spectacles as she saw who had spoken.
5. A mixture of gratitude and shame welled up in Harry. Had Lupin forgiven him, then, for the terrible things he had said when they had last met?
6. Aberforth Dumbledore stood blocking the corridor ahead, his wand held ready.
7. After an hour or so, Hagrid and Slughorn began making extravagant toasts: to Hogwarts, to Dumbledore, to elf-made wine, and to—
8. Almost against his will he glanced from Ron to Hermione, both of whom looked devastated.
9. An aged witch stood in front of him, holding a tray of what looked horribly like whole human fingernails. She leered at him, showing mossy teeth. Harry backed away.
10. And as everybody looked at her, she addressed the dead elf at the bottom of the grave.
11. And Harry’s feet left the floor to fall, seconds later, back onto the rug in front of Dumbledore’s desk.
12. And he looked eagerly around as though hoping to see a signpost.

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